The Men in her Life

see if we can wave off the plane?’ she asked him, trying to offer something to make him feel better.
    ‘Could we?’ His face brightened instantly, like a child offered a trip to the zoo after the dentist.
    ‘Sure.’ Holly had never been to the observation deck but she knew it existed. She had seen it in movies. She stopped a porter, who directed them to Terminal Two.
    ‘It’s quite a long walk. I think there’s a bus,’ he warned.
    ‘Come on,’ Holly said, ‘we haven’t got time to wait for a bus. Let’s walk quickly.’
    Outside in the stifling heat of the concrete tangle of roads, car parks and tunnels, what had been a fun idea became a challenge. Whoever designed the airport had not intended people to travel easily from Terminal Three to Terminal Two. The air was thick with exhaust fumes. They raced along trying to maintain a sense of direction, with time running out before Ella’s plane was due to take off. The more difficult the assault course became, the more determined Holly was to complete it. When they finally reached the entrance to the deck, a notice announced that the lift was out of order. Pink with sweat and exertion, Holly shouted ‘Race you!’ and lunged at the steps taking them two by two. She just beat him to the top although he cried foul as, sensing him about to overtake her on the last flight, she had flung out her right arm to whack him in the chest.
    At the top they stood bent over, panting, laughing and trying to catch their breath. Within seconds the jumbo jet containing Ella went thundering along the runway and they both screamed and waved for all they were worth as it lifted off and made its agonizingly slow ascent into the clear blue sky.
    ‘Do you think she saw us?’ Matt shouted, when the plane had finally disappeared. The noise up on the deck was so loud it felt as if they were inside the engine of an accelerating jet.
    ‘Of course she did,’ Holly screamed back, unable to entertain the possibility that their mad race had been in vain.
    They looked at each other, laughing, then suddenly, surrounded by plane-spotters with binoculars and notepads, and families waving goodbye to their loved ones, in the deafening roar of aeroplanes taking off, Matt stepped forward, put his arms around her and kissed her, his face tilted upwards to hers, his eyes closed. For a moment she closed her eyes too, giving in to the Casablanca moment, and then she pulled away, not quite sure what had happened.
    He began to walk back across the terrace to the steps and she followed him at a slight distance. They didn’t speak as they started walking down again, but after the first flight, in the cool intimacy of the concrete shell where they could no longer be seen, he stopped, waiting for her to catch him up, and held out his hand. She took it. His palm was dry and firm. It was so long since she had held hands with a boy, and it was such an innocent, comforting thing to do, it made her want to cry.
    They sat in silence side by side all the way back on the tube, and as they walked, still hand in hand, through streets teeming with tourists in shorts, his grip became firmer, and she felt as if he were leading her to bed.
    ‘This is wrong,’ she wanted to say, but she knew that words would put an end to the unreal spell that had been cast upon them, and even though she tried her best to think of reasons why she shouldn’t, she couldn’t persuade herself that it was wrong enough not to do it.
    Her hand shook as she put her key into the lock of her door. They were greeted by the cool familiar air that smelled of dust and stale cigarettes. He closed the door behind them, then caught her hand again and shoved her gently back against the dirty carpet on the flight of stairs. Then he kissed her again, pushing the thin straps of her vest from her shoulders very deliberately, as if he had planned every move. His eyes were on her breasts as he unzipped the fly of her jeans. She lay still, powerless, unwilling to participate, but unable to stop herself wanting him.
    He unzipped himself, took a condom from the pocket of his black jeans and rolled it on, and stood, faintly comical, with his jeans around his ankles and a hard-on like a shiny fist. She found herself kicking the jeans from her legs.
    ‘Just stick that into me,’ she whispered.
    He slid his hands under her buttocks and tilted her hips towards him and when he had the position exactly as he wanted it, he bent his knees slightly and entered